


Peas in a Pod

by 27dragons, tisfan



Series: MCU Kink Bingo [57]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Real Person Fiction, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Celebrity, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Bucky has a bad plan, Car Sex, Hand Jobs, Karaoke, M/M, Oral Sex, Prince and the Pauper, Switching Places, background Natasha Romanov/Scott Lang, look-alike contest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-10-12 06:57:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17462762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/27dragons/pseuds/27dragons, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tisfan/pseuds/tisfan
Summary: Bucky Barnes was used to running into Winter Soldier fans when he was out and about. He was less used to running into... himself? What’s a rock star to do when he stumbles into a look-alike contest with himself as the target look? Enter it, of course.For MCUKinkBingo Square I2: A Celebrity and a Fan





	1. Chapter 1

Bucky Barnes, leader of the internationally famous (okay, so it was only two nations, but the Winter Soldier was huge in Japan) band, was surrounded by fans and…

No one noticed him.

There was, in fact, a really simple explanation. In a fit of artistic despair (read yet another argument with his soon-to-probably-be-his-ex boyfriend), he’d stomped off into the city to get a drink and relax at a bar.

That was hosting a Bucky Barnes look-alike contest.

He was literally surrounded by people who looked… well, an awful fucking lot like him.

Admittedly, that was because most of them were wearing wigs and what Bucky thought of as his racoon makeup. He had an official licensed wig, or so he’d been informed by his merch specialist, Darcy Lewis. She delighted in bringing him weird obscure stuff all the time. The merchandising in Japan alone was… astonishing. (Like, there was a Bucky Barnes chocolate bar. And a Bucky Barnes pocky stick, and--)

“Excuse me,” someone said, sticking a clipboard in his face. “Have you paid your entry fee?”

Bucky almost -- _almost_ \-- told her he was the actual Bucky Barnes, and then where to stick said entry fee, but then… well, why not?

“How much is it?”

“Twenty dollars,” she said.

Bucky raised an eyebrow. The entry fee was twenty dollars? Where was this money going to? He certainly didn’t know anything about a Bucky Barnes look-alike contest. What the hell, though, why not?

He fished a twenty out of his pocket, signed the paperwork (using his own name, just to see if she noticed, and if she did, she probably had decided he was just “being in character.”) and got in line.

“C’mere,” he said, putting an arm around one of the other “Buckys.” “Really, I gotta have a picture of this, can we like, group up?”

“What? Oh, yeah, definitely!” This “Bucky” looked like he was wearing his own hair, at least. He grabbed the fake on the other side of him as well and pulled them all together with a broad grin, looking up into Bucky’s phone. “That’ll be one for the website!”

“There’s a website?” Well, of course there was a website, there was an official Winter Soldier and the Commandos website, but there were also a lot of fan-run things that Bucky didn’t look at much. Or at all. If he could avoid it.

“Oh, yeah, hang on, let me--” The guy dug into his pocket and pulled out a flimsy home-printed business card. It had a website printed on the front and a QR code on the back. Across the top it read: _Sebastian Stan, Winter Soldier impersonator_. “It’s just a side gig,” he said. “Done a couple of, like, bachelorette parties and stuff.”

“What, like a _stripper_?” That was… almost horrifying. He wondered where some of those “nudes” came from. Darcy kept saying they were just photoshopped jobs. His face, plastered on someone else’s abs. Not that his own abs weren’t pretty solid, but still...

“Oh my god, _no!_ ” Sebastian said. He waved one hand as if to shoo the idea away. “Karaoke, mostly. I mean, I’ve always been pretty good at imitating voices, you know, and then one day someone told me I looked just like Bucky Barnes, and -- well, maybe a little bit, so, you know, why not? Load up the karaoke player with the Winter Soldier setlist and do, like, a five-song show. It’s not much, but it’s fun. Keeps me in beer money, you know?”

Bucky let the other fakes wander off; the event coordinator was busy handing out numbers and whatnot. Sebastian, on the other hand, he kept close by. “You do, it’s kinda remarkable, actually. You even _sound_ like him, you know, if he was actually from New York, instead of Romania.” It was hard, actually, to remember not to do his show-talk when he was out and about, but Bucky had discovered a long time ago that if he talked like a foreigner, people saw a foreigner, and not a real person. He’d personally had to work with a vocal coach for several years in order to lose the accent.

“Yeah? You think so?” Sebastian looked delighted. “Maybe I’ll place in the contest tonight. Good publicity, right?”

“You ever see them play?” Bucky wondered how big a fan the guy was, versus just taking advantage of genetics. He eyed Sebastian critically. He was maybe an inch shorter than Bucky, but that could be fixed with lifts.

“Oh, yeah, I’ve been to... five? concerts? No, six, there was that unscheduled one at Central Park two years ago and I got there in time for like the last half.” He unzipped his jacket to show off a band tee -- with Steve’s face on it.

“Ug, that guy?” Bucky couldn’t help it. He _liked_ Steve, he did. They got along great before… before they’d gotten really drunk and slept together. And then, kept doing it because it was easier than finding someone to hook up with all the time, and then it was habit, and now… now it was just getting in the way. But he didn’t love Steve, he probably never would, and fucking his drummer (everyone thought they were the couple of the decade, at least) was keeping him from being able to hook up with someone (anyone!) else.

“Hey, Steve Rogers is the hottest thing on legs,” Sebastian said. “ _And_ he’s a damn good drummer. Heart of the music, you know? God, I’d love to actually meet him sometime.”

“He is a good drummer,” Bucky admitted, because that was also true. Just because Bucky wanted to put his head through the drum set sometimes didn’t change facts. “Good lyricist, too. He doesn’t get a lot of the credit he deserves; half the songs, he tightens up, after I-- er Bucky writes them.”

Sebastian nodded along. “Yeah, yeah, I definitely read that in an interview somewhere. Not the _Rolling Stone_ one, that was garbage, but the piece for _Sound Underground_? I mean, wow, the synchronicity, the way they work together, it’s just... it’s magic, I love it.”

“Heh, yeah, I think the last album, though, they’re just phoning it in,” Bucky said. He was telling this guy way too many truths today, but hell, it wasn’t like Sebastian was going to believe him. “That one bit, ‘All the Way’? It’s just the main melody from ‘Future Again,’ and the theme of “End of the Line’. Seriously, my sister writes better music than that.” And if he could convince Becca to sell him some of her lyrics, he’d probably buy them, too.

“Well, okay, maybe it’s a little bit derivative, but man, you’ve got to remember, they did the whole album in like two months between tours. That’s just _unheard of_.” Sebastian looked at him very earnestly. “I mean, I seriously worry about them burning out sometimes.”

“Yeah, me too,” Bucky said. “Can’t lose momentum, though. You fall off the charts, there are hundreds of other bands, just as good, maybe better, eager to take your place.”

“It’s a rat race, no doubt about it,” Sebastian agreed. “What do you think of--”

“Number thirty-two!” called the announcer. Hard to believe there were more than thirty people who thought they looked like, or could sing like, Bucky Barnes. Hell, he couldn’t imagine at that moment, that anyone would actually _want_ to be him, with his fucked up life. Guess it looked better from the outside.

“Oh, that’s me,” Bucky said, which was probably good, because he hadn’t been paying attention to the other Buckys, or the event, or anything. “What am I singing?” _Future Again_. Bucky stifled a groan. That had been the song, back when he and Steve’s relationship was new, and they thought it could actually be something more than just boning… the song. Their song.

But it wasn’t in Bucky’s nature to do anything less than his best, and at least he knew the song perfectly, even if it had mostly been dropped from the setlist in recent months. And he knew the old choreography, too, so he went ahead and did it, to some whistles and cheers.

Nothing like the thunderous applause he got at an actual gig.

But it was kinda nice, too… having people cheer for his actual skill, rather than the puffed up, hollywood slick, prepackaged performer.

Bucky took a bow, and didn’t bother to listen to the judges remarks. There was no way he was going to lose a Bucky Barnes look-alike karaoke contest. That just was not going to happen.

“Hey, not bad,” Sebastian congratulated him as he came back off the stage. “You’ve got the strut _down_.”

Bucky leaned in close, “The strut’s a matter of hip-motion. Walk like a girl, so your footsteps are in a single line? Your body does the rest.”

“Hey, that’s good advice, I’ll have to try that,” Sebastian said. “You should look into doing the makeup, though. There’s tutorials all over YouTube, and the judges eat it up.” He waved at his own face, liberally painted with the Winter Soldier’s signature dark stripe.

 _I would kill to have three days in a row where I didn’t have to wear that fucking racoon mask._ “Hard pass on that, I look like a teenager trying to figure out how to cry in public.”

Sebastian laughed. “Nah, not really. I mean--” He cocked his head as the announcer called a new number. “Oh, hey, that’s me. Stick around, maybe you’ll pick up a thing or two!” He grinned and jogged toward the stage.

Where he was... good. _Really_ good. He’d apparently taken Bucky’s advice about the strut to heart and was killing it, and he’d even worked out the sort of sideways lean that Bucky put into it. The singing was spot-on, too, and he threw a ton of energy into it, crooning into the audience and giving the judges a damned good copy of Bucky’s signature murder-glare. He capped off the performance by pointing out into the audience and pronouncing, “To the end of the line!” in an eerily good imitation of Bucky’s own voice.

He came back down off the stage to applause at least as enthusiastic as Bucky’s own had been, hair slightly damp from all the jumping around he’d done. “Good crowd tonight!” he enthused. “Great energy.”

“You have great energy,” Bucky said, “and you’re really, really good. But I’m better.” He winked. “Ain’t nobody else like me.”

Except that he was, in fact, looking at about forty others who were like him to various degrees. Maybe… ten that he might mistake for himself in bad light. And three who were pretty close, including Sebastian, who Bucky could have used as a shaving mirror.

The last performer, after Sebastian, was clearly only there because his friends had dared him to do it; it was a cheap wig, the makeup looked like it was actual spraypaint, and the less said about his singing, the better. The crowd applauded politely, but without any enthusiasm, and the judges did not deliberate long.

“So what do you do for your main gig,” Bucky wondered. What the hell, he could daydream about having a normal life… what might have happened if his garage band that was just for fun hadn’t scored big on American Idol and suddenly Bucky Barnes, Romanian refugee and adopted son of a theater director, hadn’t become national property. (People tended to forget he hadn’t become an American until he was in his early teens.)

“Oh, I’m in college,” Sebastian said. “NYU.”

“God, that must be nice,” Bucky said. “Just… learning something because you want to know it.” Not six hours of dance training, weight lifting, eating nothing but chicken, because he couldn’t lose his _look_. Kick back, have a pizza with friends (an actual _pizza_ and why was it that the food that he wasn’t supposed to eat all tasted so goooood?) and read books.

“Eh, I mean, we’re coming up on finals right now so it’s pretty damn stressful,” Sebastian said. “This is the first time in a week that I haven’t been in either the library or the lab.” He made a face.

“And in third place--” the announcer was saying, and while Bucky didn’t actually care, Sebastian turned attentively. “Number 13!” The girl -- and it was a girl, Bucky noticed, because he had a nice ass, but hers was _amazing_ , he’d always been an ass man, and Steve’s butt was as flat as a board, no offense, but it was true -- squealed and jumped around, bouncing impressively. “Our prize, a fifty dollar pre-paid Visa, and general admission tickets for Friday’s live performance of the Winter Soldier.”

“Second place--” The announcer shuffled her papers.

“That’ll be _you_ ,” Bucky said. He pushed the legs of his chair off the floor and grinned, smug.

“Number thirty-two.”

If Bucky had been drinking anything, he would have spit it out. _The hell_?

Sebastian was applauding and grinning. “Great job, man!”

Bucky scoffed, but he got up, rather than making a fuss, joining the girl on the sidelines.

The announcer read off more prize information. Center seat tickets, and another gift card, and three _original series_ Winter Soldier tees (Bucky had all of them. Somewhere. He thought. Maybe.)

“And in first place, number thirty-seven,” the announcer said. The spotlight in the room zipped around a few times and landed on-- Sebastian.

“No fucking way,” Bucky said under his breath.

“Our lucky first place winner gets front row seats aaaaaand, backstage passes to meet the band! Plus a collection of vinyl-pressed albums, all signed by the band.”

Sebastian jumped up, hands over his head, and then recovered his aplomb enough to do the strut all the way up onto the stage to shake the announcer’s hand.

Bucky wanted to know who the hell was sponsoring this contest, since this was the first he’d heard of any damn backstage passes being given out. He hadn’t signed for that, wasn’t aware of any VIP tours at all.

“Ah, he’s so dreamy,” the girl next to him said. “I would ride that like a bicycle all the way in to town and back.”

Sebastian maintained his strut, but his face broke out into that huge grin again as he came over to shake Number 13’s hand, and then Bucky’s. “Congratulations, guys! That was awesome!”

“Weird, but awesome, yeah,” Bucky agreed, not letting go of Sebastian’s hand. “Hey, Seb, can I call you Seb? Sebastian’s a mouthful. I have…”

This was a bad idea, it was such a bad idea, but… it was already Sunday, it was just a week. Bucky was in New York for a week, that was all…

“... an idea.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apparently Seb is an even better Bucky Barnes than Bucky himself... Which gives Bucky an idea to give them both a break from the daily grind for a few days.
> 
> MCU Kink Bingo - O5 - Trope: The Prince and the Pauper

 

“You’re shitting me.” Bucky was beginning to wonder if Seb was ever going to blink again. Seb looked at Bucky, and then down at the driver’s license Bucky had produced by way of proof, and then back at Bucky’s face. “Oh, holy _shit_ , you’re _not_ shitting me, you’re really him! I mean you! I mean--”

“I’m really me,” Bucky said, “although I’m beginning to wonder, having gotten a look at _you_.” It was kinda weird, and just a little bit creepy. Every time Seb smiled, the illusion was broken. The Winter Soldier did not smile, and in fact, Bucky couldn’t really remember the last time he’d smiled, and meant it.

“Ohmygod,” Seb said. Gasped, really. “Ohmygod ohmygod ohmygod. What--” He looked around the bar, which had emptied out a lot now that the contest was over. “What the hell are you doing _here_?” His eyes got impossibly rounder. “You’re not going to sue me, are you? Because I swear it’s all like legally licensed karaoke and I’m not trying to fool anyone into thinking I’m really you, it’s just beer money and I’m completely broke anyway and--”

“No, no, not at all,” Bucky said. “I was just… looking for inspiration, and I happened to wind up here. I didn’t even know there was a look-alike contest. And this is the first time I ever heard of any _professional impersonators_.” Well, he’d heard of Elvis impersonators, there were were tribute bands of every flavor, and once he’d gotten a blowjob from a David Bowie impersonator, although that might have actually been Bowie, anyone’s guess, really…

“Oh thank god.” Seb picked up his beer and drained about half of it without quite taking his eyes off Bucky, which was an interesting feat. “So, okay, then... Oh _shit_ , I tried to give _makeup advice_ to the _Winter Soldier_. Oh my god, I’m such a fucking dork. Someone shoot me.” He leaned over and thunked his head against the table.

“Hey, hey, don’t damage the goods,” Bucky said. “If it makes you feel better, I wasn’t kidding. I can’t do my own damn stage makeup. Loki does it for me, the man is _some sort of minor god_ with cosmetics.”

Seb looked up again. He looked around the bar, deliberately and obviously pinched himself, and then looked around again. “No one is going to believe this,” he said. “No one. I am having a beer with _Bucky Fucking Barnes_ and not a single one of my friends is going to believe me.”

“Why not? You won the contest, didn’t you? Technically, you get to meet the whole band on Friday,” Bucky said. “Besides, I’m a real person. I drink real beer. This… vaguely… qualifies.”

“I almost forgot about that,” Seb admitted. He fished the tickets and the backstage pass out of his jacket pocket and stared at them pensively. “Now I have to figure out who to invite along. Shit. Tony’s going to be _pissed_ if it’s not him.”

“We don’t like Tony?” Bucky wondered. He hadn’t quite figured out how to lead up to what was going to be either a great idea or a terrible idea, but first he had to talk Seb out of committing social suicide.

“I mean, he’s okay. He’s my lab partner, and I swear he is your _biggest_ ever fan. Like. _Ever_. He’s just got this... It’s sort of a crush on me? Except not really.”

“Because he gets me and you all mixed up together and you’re not really sure if it’s you at all?” Bucky got that, he did. Fans did it to him, all the time. They thought that they _knew him_ but really, what they knew was a mostly cultivated image. The real Bucky Barnes… hell, no wonder Seb impersonated him so well. Bucky wasn’t sure where the real Bucky was anymore.

“Yeah, exactly. It’d be flattering, maybe, if I thought it was for _me_. Even if he’s really not my type.”

“I have… maybe a little unorthodox, but… a solution to your problems. And mine.” He flipped the business card up between two fingers like a magic trick. “What might be your going rates, for… say… a week?”

Seb blinked. “I-- what? What do you... You’re not suggesting what I think you’re suggesting, are you?”

“We’re between sets, for a bit,” Bucky said. “No shows, no recordings. It’d be a week, no one would ever even notice. I mean, I love my life, I do. But right now, I’m just so tired of it. I can’t write music, I’m not sleeping. I just… need a break. To be normal again. To have a chance to find something worth writing music _about_.”

“Huh.” Seb sat back in his chair and looked at Bucky again, this time without the awe and amazement. “So... what would I do?”

“I mean, obviously, you know most of my songs and dance moves, so-- there’s choreography. Just tune Peggy out, she’ll yell at you, and then she’ll show you exactly what to do. That’s what we always do. I don’t think I’ve gotten it right the first time. Might be a meet-and-greet, or an interview, but those are all puff pieces, and you know the basics. Ug, Steve and I have two writing sessions scheduled, but we’ll just end up yelling at each other. You could probably walk out in the first five minutes and he’d think you were me, just less mad.”

Seb frowned. “Okay, I know I’m a good impersonator, but I don’t think I’m going to be able to fool people you live and work with _every day_. And Steve is your-- your _boyfriend_ , right? How the hell am I supposed to fake _that?_ ” A sudden blush spread across his neck and ears.

Bucky snorted. “Probably better than I do, these days. You said he was hot, right? So, a little PDA’s not like, intolerable?”

There he went with the big round eyes again. “I mean... Wouldn’t you mind?”

“I hate to spoil the magic,” Bucky said, although that was a lie, “but Steve and I ain’t in love… we kinda tried it out for a while, and things. I mean, it’s not bad, or anything, but it’s not _there_. But the fans like it and our publicist promised to flay both of us alive if we broke up during this tour. So, sometimes we’re expected to get caught making out, or something, but we haven’t actually slept together in… months.” Which meant Bucky hadn’t had sex in months, which was _also_ frustrating.

“...Huh. Okay. I... Maybe? I think I could do that. But I still say someone's going to notice.”

Bucky shook his head, slowly. “Maybe in your life,” Bucky said. “But in mine? The only people who might notice are thousands of miles away. My sister would know me in a heartbeat. Anyone else even asks if you’re okay, just tell ‘em your creative juices are flowin’ and to leave you be. They’ll think I’m writing a new song in my head and stay out of my way. I haven’t had new material in ages.”

Seb looked at him for another moment, almost sad, then shook his head. “Okay, sure. Hell, I could probably use the break from studying. I can probably hold it together for a week.”

“It’s five days,” Bucky said. “A hundred and twenty hours… what did you say your going rate was? Seventy-five bucks an hour? And most of it’s overtime, too…”

Seb blinked at him, opened his mouth, closed it again. He pulled out his phone and tapped at the calculator for a while. “That can’t be right...” He cleared it out and started over again. “That’s... That’s half a semester’s tuition.”

“A little over ten thousand, I think?” It was in fact, precisely twelve, if he counted everything over forty hours as time and a half, but people got weirdly freaked out that a singer could do math in his head.

“Twelve,” Seb said, turning his phone around to display the number. “Are you... I mean, it’d be a lot cheaper to just pretend to get bronchitis or something.”

“That’s a theory,” Bucky said. “But it wouldn’t be as much fun.” The money wasn’t even the largest part of it. They weren’t exactly diving into pools of gold coins (and why would anyone want to? Gold was heavy and painful.) or anything, but he’d hardly miss it. He’d spent ten grand on a party and had less to show for it the morning after.

“Going to classes and studying is fun?” Seb laughed. “Yeah, okay. Okay, I’m in. Let’s do this.”

***

Seb fingered the hotel keycard in his pocket. _Bucky’s_ pocket. They’d swapped clothes before parting ways. And phones, so they’d be able to check on their new schedules and text the people they were supposed to be able to text. And wallets. And... pretty much everything.

And now Seb was in an elevator in a fancy hotel, getting ready to see the inside of Bucky fucking Barnes’ room. And he would actually talk to the other members of the band, and he seriously needed to _control his freakout_ before he gave the whole game away prematurely.

Also, he needed to start thinking of himself as Bucky so he’d answer to it. And _stop smiling_ for fuck’s sake.

He managed to drop his face into the standard Barnes Resting Bitchface by the time the elevator doors opened. All for naught; the hallway was empty. He made his way down the hallway, checking the numbers on the doors, until he found the right room. He took a breath and tapped the lock with the keycard, and was rewarded with a cheery green light. He pushed the door open and stepped into Bucky Barnes’ life.

The hotel room was nice, or it was once Seb managed to see past all the damn clutter. Nowhere in any of the magazines that Seb had read -- and he’d read a lot of them -- indicated that Bucky Barnes either had no idea what a trash can was, or that he unpacked by throwing his suitcase contents in the air.

There were no less than four half-empty coffee cups on the dresser, empty bottles of diet soda everywhere. Tees and jeans littered the floor, and there were at least eight boots (Seb couldn’t tell if any of them actually matched) tossed on the other bed.

The bed that Bucky had obviously been sleeping in was unmade, stacked deep with extra pillows, and-- oh, god. Bucky slept with a fucking stuffed penguin? How had Seb not known that?

Out of decades of habit ingrained in him by his mother, Seb started clearing up the mess, dumping the coffee down the sink and dropping the paper cups into the trash, then following them with the soda bottles. It wasn’t until he reached for the boots that he hesitated, realizing that Bucky’s bandmates were probably going to _expect_ the place to be a mess, if this was what Bucky was usually like. Or maybe he wasn’t. Maybe this was an anomaly.

Seb chewed on his lip, considering, and then figured he should probably leave it all in place unless someone commented on it. He wasn’t fishing the drink cups back out of the trash, though. Messy, he could probably live with for a few days. Cups and dishes with food in them that could get moldy... Ew. No.

He picked up the stuffed penguin and turned it over in his hands curiously. It wasn’t new; the fuzzy fabric was worn in spots. “I bet you have a name,” Seb mused. “Hope no one expects me to know it.” He made a mental note to text Bucky later and ask.

There was a click sound behind him, and a door that he hadn’t even noticed-- not the front door, but one on the side of the sitting room -- opened. And in through that door walked a blond god. A mostly naked. Blond. Wet god. “Hey, Buck, I thought I heard you come in.”

Seb’s eyes stretched wide for a second and he swallowed hard and sent thanks to whatever deity had led him here to this moment, before realizing that he was supposed to _be_ Bucky. Shit. “Uh. Hey.”

Steve Rogers -- the man that Seb had been idly daydreaming about for at least two years now -- came right up into his personal space. Wearing nothing but a hotel towel that wasn’t doing justice to its office _at all_. “You sober?” He sniffed near Seb’s throat, almost suspiciously. “Huh. Guess so. Look, can we talk this out, just a bit? I… Buck, I ain’t mad at you, you know that, right?”

Shit, Bucky had _not_ told him that he and Steve were in the middle of a damn fight. How was he supposed to do this? _Be the Winter Soldier,_ he chided himself. “Sure,” he managed, and took a half-step back, not because he actually wanted to put any distance between him and Steve, but because he was worried that the rapid flutter of his pulse would be too easily noticed from so close. “Just needed some space for a while.” That was probably safe.

“Okay,” Steve said, cocking his head and looking at Seb a little uncertain. “We’ll get through this, come out just as good of friends, on the other side. I know that, I have to believe that. I… uh, look, I know you’re usually the song writer, but I got some ideas, I want to run by you, ok? I think--” Steve’s eyes flicked down to the stuffed penguin in Seb’s hands. “Ok, look, I’ll let you get some sleep.” He leaned in again, close enough that Seb could feel the breath on his cheek, and fast enough that he didn’t even have time to close his eyes.

Steve Rogers brushed a quick, chaste kiss over Seb’s mouth. “‘Night, jerk.”

Seb had read enough articles about Bucky and Steve’s relationship to know how to answer _that_ , at least. “Night, punk.” He forced himself to look up at Steve’s eyes and not stare at those plump, lush, _incredible_ lips. Okay, maybe he stared a _little_.

Steve’s tongue flicked out, as if to gather up the taste, his eyes going soft for a moment, then he turned around the left, pulling the adjoining door closed behind him.

Except… not all the way closed, leaving it open a sliver. Like an invitation.

_Fuck_. He was so, so screwed.

***

Bucky had never been on a college campus before; well, not when he wasn’t booked at the main amphitheater, and certainly not to be able to walk around. The campus seemed like a whole other world, closed off by a low wall, as if the whole world had to stay out and only serious scholars were allowed in.

Even in the yellow street lamps, and the very late night/early morning sense of abandonment, there was some strange kind of energy buzzing just under his sneakers. (And what the hell, Seb, are you wearing on your feet, like shitty, terrible shoes!)

It took him a while to find Seb’s dorm, but at least he didn’t have a roommate that he was supposed to pretend to be a student with. Bucky had gotten into college, but that summer, he and Steve had closed a recording contract, and he always figured he’d have time for school later. And if not, well, at least they were making money and he didn’t _need_ a degree.

He swiped the card, took the stairs up. Inside the dorm, there were students -- a few -- in the lounge, watching something late night on TV. Sounds of people moving around in rooms, and oh, there was Seb’s dorm room.

There were about a dozen post-it notes stuck to his door, and Bucky stopped to read them.

Most of them were from someone marked T, in various degrees of urgency.

**CALL ME!**

Where are you?

Study Group?

Bucky sighed. Had Seb skipped out on meeting up with-- what was his lab partner’s name again? Tommy? Something like that-- to learn more about Bucky?

He scrolled through Seb’s phone contacts, found a Tony listed. That was probably the one. He texted _U still awake?_ and let himself into the room.

He blinked, thinking obviously he’d walked into the wrong room or something.

Everything was organized, neat, tidy, dusted. Like, the books were lined up so tight, Bucky wondered if Seb used a ruler to get them exactly right. He was sort of scared to touch anything, honestly.

The bed was made? Who the fuck ever _made their bed_? Bucky wasn’t even sure he knew how to make a bed, much less as neat and precise as this one was made up.

The phone buzzed. _For you? Always. Where you been?_

_WS lookalike karaoke thing_  
1st place  
Whatcha need

Tony’s answer came back even faster this time. _Want a study buddy?_

_Might need one desperately._ Bucky pulled out a few text books and looked over the cribbed sheet of notes that Seb had given him. _How’re you with applied math?_ The rest of the subjects, Bucky thought he could handle; being insanely wealthy had gotten him a lot more involved in economics than he expected to ever be, theory as well as practice. History was a piece of cake; Steve was a history buff and Bucky had heard it all. Literature? Pfft. Easy, as long as he’d read the books.

Not that Bucky was actually going to be taking the tests, but if he didn’t look like he was studying, that would be bad.

Of course, Seb would be the one to suffer if he didn’t know his subjects. Bucky chewed on his lip. Maybe this hadn’t been such a good plan for Seb.

_Awesome! Meet @ SU coffee shop?_

Bucky checked the schedule again -- there were two classes to attend tomorrow, but a three hour gap. _How’s lunch til 2 sound?_ That should get him out there, study, and back before the next class, as well as having time to eat.

_Great! Can’t wait!_

Enthusiastic, much? Bucky wondered. He couldn’t remember the last time someone who wasn’t a fan greeted his arrival with exclamation points. Had to be the resting bitch-face. He practiced for a few minutes in the mirror, smiling. Seb smiled. A lot.

“How do your cheeks not hurt?” Bucky demanded, staring at himself. He seriously looked like he was faking it. Ug.

Not really wanting to mess up Seb’s perfectly made bed, he toed off his boots and fell face first into it. Plenty of time, tomorrow, for figuring shit out, right?

He settled onto the bed; he’d slept on worse. Hotel quality beds weren’t always very good, although he did miss the pillows. And Burr. Funny, really. Burr had been a constant for years. His very first gift from his very first fan. Wh ere his whole life, really, had changed.

The dorm room felt very different from a hotel; like a home. Not his home, but someone’s. Comforting, really.

For the first time in ages, he managed to go to sleep without pacing or worrying or drinking.

Morning came, and the class was amazing, interesting, but he seemed to be the only one taking notes. Half the students were still asleep, the others looked bored to tears.

_What does Tony look like?_ he texted his own phone. The last thing he was going to need was to not recognize the guy. His icon on Seb’s phone was of a robot, so that was useless.

The answer came back about ten minutes later. _Short. Dark hair, also short and kind of messy. Trying to grow a goatee. Prolly wearing a band T. Y? No lab today._

A few seconds later, Seb added, _Steve wants to talk about lyrics, what do I do?_

Bucky hummed under his breath for a few minutes; there’d been a little kick of a refrain floating around when he woke up in the morning. _Try: The walls sound better when you’re here And see what he comes up with._

Seb texted back the thumbs-up emoji.

It turned out that Bucky didn’t need to have worried about recognizing Tony; when he got to the student union, he hadn’t even gotten all the way into the coffee shop when he saw someone sitting at a table toward the bag waving wildly at him. And then he had to try not to trip over his own feet because Seb hadn’t warned him that Tony was fucking _gorgeous_.

Tony’s “messy” dark hair was tousled in a way that made Bucky want to run his fingers through it; the sleeves of the promised band tee were wrapped tight around arms that were muscled -- not bulky, like Bucky’s or Steve’s, but wiry and well-defined. Seb hadn’t mentioned the huge, soulful dark eyes with their sinfully long lashes, or the way Tony’s smile made those eyes light up. The goatee was... still a work in progress, admittedly, but Bucky could see the way it was going to frame Tony’s face perfectly when it filled in.

Well, if this the scenery that Seb had to look at, Bucky could understand why the guy smiled all the time. He couldn’t help answering that grin with one of his own, a little dazzled in a way he hadn’t been in a while. “Hey, hot stuff,” Bucky said, flipping his chair around backward to straddle it. “I’d ask how your day went, but th’ way you look, I’d say it’s goin’ great.” It wasn’t hard to turn on the charm, when he had someone worth turning it on _for_.

Tony blinked at him for a second, and then his smile widened a little. “Yeah? I mean, yeah, of course. You’re in a good mood. Must’ve been a real boost, picking up that first place last night. You win anything good?”

“It was… something else, all right. Felt like I was in a hall of mirrors. Bucky Barnes, as far as the eye could see,” Bucky said, leaning on the back of the chair. “So, yeah… got a prize pack. Standard stuff. Visa gift card, some band merch. You want a tee, I got like four of ‘em now.” He rummaged around in the backpack -- again, everything else was strictly organized in there. Seb was some kinda neat freak, Bucky would say. “Here--” He tossed the black tank top at Tony, and then had the somewhat possessive sensation of watching Tony hold up a picture of Bucky’s face over that lean chest.

“Oh my god, this is an _original series_ shirt!” Tony enthused, bouncing adorably. “Are you sure I can have it? You could probably drop it on eBay for like... fifty, seventy-five bucks, easy.”

“Yeah, go ahead. What was he, like twelve in that picture? God, _embarrassing_. I couldn’t wear it.” Not that he would ever, ever be caught dead wearing his own damn merch. “Let’s see it on you.” So, that might have been unfair, but Bucky wondered if Tony’s bod was actually as fit as it seemed. Getting a look at those _arms--_

“Yeah?” Tony glanced around, then shrugged and stripped off his tee right there, and pulled on the tank, giving Bucky a good, if brief, look at a well-defined chest and arms that definitely did not disappoint. “This is _awesome_. Thanks!” He looked down at Bucky’s picture on his chest with a happy grin.

Staring, Bucky couldn’t decide if it was going to be kinda hot, or extremely disconcerting looking at himself on Tony’s chest while they tried to study. “Okay, enough band shit,” Bucky said, pulling out his books and throwing them on the table. “Come on over here and explain this shit to me like I’m stupid, because I’m pretty sure that’s true.”

He flipped the book open to the section that Seb’s notes indicated were likely to be on the test. He wasn’t sure he was going to be able to learn anything with Tony pressed in so close, and, “Oh, you smell nice,” he commented, before he thought about it.

Yeah. Okay, this was going to be distracting, and probably a bad idea. But he pushed his leg out just a little bit and let his calf press against Tony’s knee.

_Definitely_ a bad idea. But, oh, oh, so good, too.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian Stan spends some time trying to pretend to be a rock star... and discovers why limos have privacy screens.

 

“You’re _late_.” The man fussing at Seb was pretty, almost austere, with a full blown pout and long, straight, black hair. He pushed Seb into a chair and slid a plate of what looked like an egg-white omelette with entirely too much kale mixed into it, in front of him. “How am I supposed to keep you perfect looking when you sleep in? Ug, darling, did you sleep at all? You look simply dreadful.” The man fluttered around some more, pulling out some pungent sort of cream and dabbing it under Seb’s eyes.

Seb pulled away from it on sheer instinct, but the man just _tsk_ ed and moved back in. “It was a... rough night,” Seb agreed. He picked up the fork and poked dubiously at the omelette. “No cheese?”

The man looked at him as if Seb had suggested he wanted to eat an entire water buffalo. Or toxic waste. “No.”

While the man’s back was turned, Steve came in, held up a single serve hazelnut creamer and dumped it in Seb’s cup before putting the lid on. “Here, Buck,” he said. “Look, I’ve been thinking about what you said, and you’re right. I know it, you know it-- Loki, don’t stab him with the mascara, we kinda need him to be able to see.”

The man -- Loki, apparently -- continued to fuss around Seb’s face, expertly dodging out of the way of fork and coffee cup as he styled Seb’s hair and dabbed on foundation and other… _stuff_. Seb had no idea what any of it was.

He took a bite of the omelette to give himself time to think. That was a mistake, but at least he managed to hold off his grimace of distaste until Loki wasn’t looking at him. “Sorry, I’m a little slow this morning,” Seb told Steve. “What am I right about?”

“That we ought to branch out, do some new kinds of music, not fall into so much of a rut,” Steve said, excited, almost boyish. Like he was some great big labrador puppy. “I’ve been working on an idea, and I thought, maybe do a cover, you know, like the Beatles, _Here Comes the Sun_? You know it, right?”

Seb scoffed. “Who doesn’t?”

“You’ve come so far,” Loki said. “Must be Peggy’s influence. No good music before Nirvana no longer holds true?” He spared Seb the problem of answering by grabbing his chin and holding his face up to apply what felt like an epic amount of rouge. Seb snuck a look at his face in the mirror, expecting to see that he somewhat resembled a clown. Instead, he looked… like himself. But better.

“A cover could be interesting,” Seb hedged when Loki finally let him go again. He didn’t want to commit Bucky to anything. “Uh, have you talked to the others about it?”

“I might have, a bit,” Steve said, not quite looking directly at Seb. “Scott, well, you know Scott. He’d smile and kiss a pig if I asked him to. I might have said that he could take drums, if we did the cover. He’s already practicing. You know, switch it up. We’re all so used to the same old--”

Seb took the coffee as Steve deftly handed it to him under Loki’s arm. “Just the way you like it,” he said, and that was hard to look at, how soft Steve appeared, eyes round and wide, and mouth held a little… _hopeful_.

Seb couldn’t help smiling in response to that sweet look. “Thanks,” he said. He took a sip. It wasn’t bad, if not quite the ridiculous dessert-disguised-as-coffee that he was used to ordering from the campus coffee shop. “If Scott’s taking drums, what’ll you pick up?” He had no doubt that Scott could do it; the interviews were all pretty clear that Scott was an excellent drummer -- maybe even better than Steve, though debate raged over the music blogs about that. “And what’s Nat say?”

“I thought I might get back to my roots,” Steve said, almost dreamily. “Remember, back in orchestra, my damn double-bass used to be taller than I was? Well, I was looking, you know, just looking around, and there was a sweet custom electric--” Steve started thumbing through his phone and showed Seb an instrument that Seb wasn’t sure actually _existed_ in the real world, like something out of a time-traveling viking story, all jade green with a huge dragon carved into the neck. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

“It’s gorgeous,” Seb said honestly. “Looks expensive.”

“You think so, _really_?” Loki sniffed, disdainful. “Ostentatious.”

Steve brushed Loki off. “He looks fine, we’re only going to be seen in public for like… twenty minutes, tops.”

“And you remember the last time pappaz got your picture, _au natural_?”

“I don’t think that means what you think it means,” Steve muttered. “Come on, let’s go-- we can buy it on the way!”

Loki, the makeup, and the omelette, all were left behind as Steve grabbed his wrist, like he was terrified that Seb was going to change his mind and not let Steve buy an instrument.

“Where are we going?” Seb wondered, though if he had to be honest, he didn’t really care. As long as Steve kept hold of him like that, he’d follow the man anywhere.

“Just out, you know the drill. Get caught by some fans, they’ve been circling the hotel like vultures, waiting to see us. Ug, don’t people have better things to do?” That seemed like an old complaint, so rehearsed and said that Steve probably didn’t hear himself talking anymore. “Sign some autographs, maybe. You can pretend you still like me for ten minutes, right?”

Steve said that last bit in such a faux-cheerful tone that Seb nearly stumbled to a halt. “I _do_ like you,” he protested.

“Good, good, that sounded… sincere,” Steve said. “Luis’s waiting, we’d better go.”

Down the stairs, and out one of the side doors, like they were trying to escape a burning building. Steve paused, looked around--

There were a cluster of girls, teenagers and maybe some college-aged co-eds at the end of the street, not quite out of earshot. Steve very visibly pretended to ignore them. Shoved Seb up against the wall, pinning him in. Steve had a good two inches on Seb, and while Seb usually didn’t feel small, Steve was huge. Looming and protective and possessive all at once.

Steve sucked in a breath, and then his mouth--

\--came down on Seb’s.

A warm, clever tongue flicked over his lips, tasting the lower one, then sucking it. Steve’s hands were in his hair, thumbs brushing just under Seb’s ears.

For a shocked couple of seconds, Seb couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything but let his thoughts chase each other in circles like a cartoon character that had been hit on the head. _Steve Rogers is kissing me. Kissing. Me. On the mouth. Steve! Rogers!_

Then he let out a broken moan and fisted his hands in Steve’s shirt, opening his mouth to let Steve in, answering that unspoken question, kissing back for all he was worth. Even if he only ever got one chance at this -- what a chance!

He clung as long as Steve would let him, chased after the taste of Steve’s tongue when Steve finally drew back, then subsided, half-panting and looking up at Steve through his eyelashes.

“Huh,” Steve said, as they pulled apart, and just in time, too. Surrounded, suddenly, by women, all holding tees or cd covers or posters -- one girl even pulled up her shirt to show off breasts barely contained by her bra.

Seb couldn’t make out much of what they said, they were like the adults in a Peanuts cartoon. _Wah wah waaah wah wah wah._ Sign this, my name is-- biggest fan --can you make this out to my sister, she-- best songs-- seen you in Dallas, and Nashville!

Seb took the marker that Steve pressed into his hand and did his best to replicate Bucky’s autograph signature. He’d seen it often enough, and luckily it was just a couple of flourish-y Bs followed by slightly squiggly and loopy lines. He pulled on the Winter Soldier persona as if he were doing one of his shows, not smiling but letting himself make a few seconds of genuine eye contact with each fan.

The crowd got larger, rather than smaller, and there was the sickening feeling that suddenly there wasn’t enough air. Everyone was talking, pushing, touching, staring. It was weird--

And then some big guy was elbowing his way through the crowd, grabbed Seb around the waist. “All right, back off ladies, save some for the show, you know, my cousin, Ignacio, he keeps saying you two need to stop baiting the sharks, they smell blood and they just come for you, you know, I mean, look at them--” he was saying.

The limo was huge, the inside plush and deep velvet seats and it smelled like some sort of expensive cologne.

“In you get, Buck,” Steve said, and the door closed behind them. “Luis-- privacy screen?”

“You got it, boss, but remind me to tell you later, about this art show opening--” The screen went up, closing off the driver’s cabin from the rest of the car.

“So,” Steve said, looking at Seb intently. “You’re not Bucky Barnes, so who the hell are you?”

 _Busted._ Seb didn’t try to protest -- he’d _told_ Bucky that he wouldn’t be able to fool the people close to Bucky for very long. “Sebastian Stan,” he introduced himself. He started to hold out his hand to shake, then realized that was just ridiculously weird and dropped it again. “I, uh. Ran into Bucky at the bar last night, and he...” Seb waved a hand around. “This was his idea, actually.”

“I’m utterly shocked and dismayed,” Steve said, in a voice that sounded like neither. “I knew he was getting restless, didn’t realize it’d gone all the way to _reckless_.” He stared at Seb for a long moment, then sighed. “Getting someone else involved. Sorry-- I didn’t know. Not until you-- I wouldn’t have kissed you, if I’d known.”

Seb couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of his throat. “ _Sorry?_ That was the best damn thing that’s happened to me in the last, like, five _years_.”

Steve’s expression cracked, just a little. Smugness, satisfaction, wistfulness. “You _should_ be kissed,” Steve said. “Often. By someone who knows how.”

“You did a damned good job of it,” Seb said. He bit his lip but didn’t debate with himself for long; he was never going to have this chance again. “Want to do it again?”

Steve licked at his lip, slow, deliberate, not like he was tempting, or teasing, but like he was savouring the moment. “You have,” he said, pulling Seb in close, closer, until there was nothing between them but clothes, “no idea what I want.” That last bit was a rough whisper in Seb’s ear, making him shiver with delicious heat. Fingers traced down Seb’s cheek, until Steve’s thumb brushed at the corner of his mouth.

Steve leaned all the way in, until his lips were mere millimeters from Seb’s, until he could feel them vibrating when Steve spoke. “You should say no.”

“Why the hell would I do that?” Seb wondered. He snaked an arm around Steve’s waist, shivering inwardly at the feel of solid muscle. “You might _stop_.”

“It’s possible,” Steve said, kissing him again, flicking his tongue over Seb’s lips. “Maybe. I could--” another kiss, a brief entrance into Seb’s mouth “-- stop.” He pushed at Seb until he was practically sprawled over the limo’s bench seats. “But I wouldn’t _want_ to.”

Steve kissed Seb like he was going to die without it. Lips and tongue and teeth. His hands mapped Seb’s chest, his arms, down his sides, until his hands were on Seb’s hips. Covered him like a blanket, tugging, using that grip on Seb’s waist to encourage him to rut up, against. “My _fucking_ god,” Steve muttered.

Seb squirmed a little, settling Steve more comfortably between his thighs, and then teased his hands up under Steve’s shirt, closing his eyes to memorize the feel of Steve’s skin under his fingertips, his palms. “Oh, god, _yes_ ,” he panted. “I want this, please.”

Steve made a scoffing sound that ruffled Seb’s hair at the back of his neck, then licked at the skin there, making it warm and wet. “How are you-- are you even real?” Steve’s hand slid under him, taking a handful of Seb’s ass and squeezing, kneading it. Needing it. Hah. “Jesus, ‘Bastian, you’re _incredible_. So responsive.”

Seb shivered at the light tickle of Steve’s breath against his skin. “You’re a dream come true,” he told Steve. “In so many ways. Can I...” He tucked his fingers down the back of Steve’s pants, teasing at the top of Steve’s crack. “I want to get my mouth on you.”

Steve made a noise at that, some sort of noise. Seb wasn’t sure he’d call it a moan. More like a whimper, desperate and needy and _wanting_. Wanting… wanting Seb. Seb was sure of that much; Steve hadn’t called him Bucky, had called him something else, _Bastian_. Like some private little joke between the two of them, and there really hadn’t been all that much.

A little lyrics conversation in the morning, that horrible breakfast, and then the fans… there wasn’t anything there, but there was _something_ there. And that something was hard and long, and pressing into Seb’s thigh like a brand. “Yeah, okay, yeah, I--”

“Yeah?” Seb sat up, pushing Steve upright, and then slid to the floor to kneel between Steve’s legs. The limo’s ride was smooth, but from here, Seb could feel the faint vibration of the tires on the road. He looked up at Steve, met those incredible blue eyes, and unfastened Steve’s belt, opened the button of his jeans.

It took a few minutes and some finesse to get Steve’s zipper down, the way his swelling cock was pushing at the fabric. Steve grabbed Seb’s wrist, pushed his hand down on that magnificent dick. Hah, Seb sounded like a bad romance in his own head, like magnificent was a word that should never have been used in conjunction with the somewhat ridiculous-looking male sex organ, but that’s exactly what it was.

Huge and thick and throbbing, not realizing that it was ridiculous. It twitched against Seb’s hand, eager, and Steve made another one of those sounds. Not anything like the low crooning he did as a backup singer, and yet, at the same time, almost exactly like those sounds. Like he was singing for Seb’s ears alone.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” Seb murmured. He couldn’t resist, not even a little; he leaned in and licked it, sucked the head into his mouth and dragged his tongue over the sensitive spot, testing pressures and listening to the sounds Steve made, like playing an instrument. He tugged Steve’s pants a little further down, enough for him to curl his hand around that heavy girth.

Both Steve’s hands went up to scrub at his face as he arched back against the seat. The cords in his throat stood out, and Seb could feel Steve’s heart racing, could practically _hear_ it. He kicked one shoe off and wiggled his leg until he got the jeans off, thigh going over Seb’s shoulder.

There was something utterly depraved about it, Steve with his shirt and socks still on, his underwear around one ankle. Luis, the driver, not ten feet away, even with the privacy screen up. Depraved and utterly delicious.

“You are so damn beautiful,” Steve told him. “Look at me--” And when he did, Seb found himself caught in the snare of that gaze, blue as the sky and as soft as moonlight. And Steve watched him, aching and intent, as if he was afraid to close his eyes. Afraid to miss anything. Or that he might open them and find Seb gone. A dream or a phantom. “Yeah, that’s good, that’s good, I like that… want it, want you. Bastian!”

Seb’s jaw ached, but god, he _wanted_. He watched Steve fall apart, undone by Seb’s lips and tongue and hand, even as he reached between his own legs to grope at himself for some relief. He moaned around Steve’s cock, eyelids fluttering before his gaze was drawn inexorably back to Steve’s.

“Here, let… let me--” Steve said, and he spread his legs even wider, practically engulfing Seb between his thighs. He might have said something else, but Seb couldn’t quite hear it over the sound of his own heart. The way the spit-slicked length of Steve’s cock rubbed against his cheek before he caught it in his mouth again.

And then Steve was thumbing at Seb’s lip, a soft brush that made the sensitive skin there tingle.

Seb wasn’t sure how long it went on, his breathing ragged and his jaw aching, but at the same time, it was slow and perfect and delicious. Steve was crooning praise, compliments, swears. He arched, rocking once, twice, and--

Steve went utterly still, then yelled, shameless, loud, gorgeous, spilling into Seb’s mouth, painting his tongue with it. Steve had barely finished, the last of it still dripping from Seb’s lip when Steve yanked him up for another kiss, hungry, almost brutal, chasing the taste of himself, mingled with Seb. Filthy and so, _so_ hot.

“Turn around,” Steve told him.

Seb was half-dazed, dizzy with lust, and it took him a few seconds to process what Steve wanted. Then he did, and he nodded, practically scrambling to turn, sitting on Steve’s lap and leaning back against Steve’s broad, muscular chest. He hooked his knees around Steve’s, letting Steve pull his legs wider, making him feel exposed and vulnerable and _perfect._

“Look at you, you want it,” Steve said, like an accusation, and like a plea all at the same time, and Seb couldn’t imagine how anyone could _not_ want it.

Steve’s hand was almost huge enough to justify that magnificent cock, and there were rough calluses against his palm from handling drumsticks. _Let you handle my stick, all right_ , Seb thought and almost laughed.

And then Steve started to move, still half-hard against Seb’s ass, rubbing his hand briskly over Seb’s aching dick.

“Oh _fuck_ \--” Seb arched into that touch entirely involuntarily. “Fuck, Steve, please, god, yes, I want it, want you...”

Steve wrapped one arm around Seb’s chest, holding him tight. The other moved rapidly between Seb’s legs, teasing and tempting him. Steve bounced him on his thighs, like Seb was riding some sort of sex-horse. He pushed into the touch as much as he could; felt Steve’s cock twitch and go semi-hard against his ass. Steve nipped at his throat, his shoulder. Bit him, probably leaving teeth shaped bruises on his back, and every time Seb moaned or swore, Steve would switch it up until Seb was a pitiful mess, twitching and aching and _begging_ for it.

Steve took his hand away, which was just _awful_ , and then he licked his own palm before covering Seb again. The heat and wet friction was perfect, sublime. “You do me proud,” Steve told him, “wanna see you hit the damn privacy screen from here. You do that for me, yeah? Because you want it _that much_.”

“I do,” Seb panted, more than half desperate. “I do, I want it, I--” Steve’s hand twisted over the head of Seb’s cock and the building heat and pressure spiked and went off like a firework, an explosion that whited out Seb’s vision for a moment as his whole body shuddered in Steve’s sure grip.

He sagged back against Steve’s chest again, limp and sated and gasping for breath. “Oh my god,” he rasped, “that was... was... _incredible_.”

“Thanks,” Steve said, almost unbearably smug and then suddenly flushed, his skin going red and hot against Seb’s back. “I mean that, I-- not just thanks for complimenting it, but, uh, thanks for… for that. I… for liking it. For… _wanting_ it.”

“Christ, how could I _not_?” Seb wondered. Did Bucky really not _enjoy_ this? What even the fuck. “You were amazing.”

“We were pretty amazing,” Steve agreed. “Top five, _at least_.” He cradled Seb in his arms, resting his cheek against Seb’s back.

“Mm,” Seb agreed sleepily, sinking into the endorphin flood and Steve’s warmth. “Have to aim for the top three, next time.”

“Next time--” and it wasn’t a question, but a promise. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky’s having the time of his life, figuring out college, being away from people who see him as an idol and not a man… until he meets Tony, who definitely sees him as a man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For MCU Kink Bingo, Square I5 - Lapdances

 

The problem, sometimes, with being Bucky Barnes, was that everyone assumed he was a pretty face and an empty head. People talked down to him, or they talked around him, like his agent was his mouthpiece. It was probably his own fault. Bucky had been moody and broody since he was a teen. A defense mechanism, maybe, from saying stupid things, was that he just didn’t talk much.

Which might have been why, when Bucky saw Tony Stark across the quad after his (read, Seb’s) three pm class that he yelled.

Tony was the first person who wasn’t a member of the band who’d treated Bucky like a human being. He’d joked, and made fun, but in a friendly way. Also, the guy was super fucking brilliant, breaking down the math so that even Bucky could understand it, and he’d never taken math higher than high school Algebra II.

Bucky was good with numbers, he'd just never done anything fancy with them. But Tony was a fucking artist with math. Incredible.

“Hey! Tony, wait up--” At least Tony was someone he knew. Maybe they could catch dinner, and Bucky could watch Tony talk, figure out who Seb’s friends were. Seb had mentioned a few, but not how to find them.

Aside from that, Tony was fucking gorgeous, and Bucky wouldn’t mind looking at him for a little longer.

Tony looked around, as if there might be another Tony behind him that Bucky was calling out to, then looked surprised when Bucky broke into a jog to catch up. “Uh, hi, Sebastian,” he said. “What’s up? Did you need something?”

“Do I need to need something?” Hmm. That could make a good starting lyric. Bucky turned it over in his head a few times. “Just, you know… what’s next on your schedule? I’m out for the day.”

Tony hefted a backpack that had to weigh half as much as he did. “I was heading to the library so I could double-check my notes on my CompSci project, but it’s not, you know, super urgent.” He gave Bucky a measuring look. “Are you doing another contest or something?”

“Maybe a little character lag,” Bucky said, because he was probably doing the voice. Or the brood maybe. He wasn’t sure. But it hadn’t occurred to him that he should pay attention to the way Seb talked. “Oof, hand it over, Hermione, you’re gonna stunt your growth carrying all this around.” He deftly removed a stack of books from Tony’s arms -- he’d worked with a roadie for a while that believed in being the mule who died rather than making two trips -- and fell in beside him.

Tony was definitely giving him the side-eye now. “Did you, like, go to lab without me and accidentally pour orange juice on our samples or something?”

“Not unless I was narcoleptic or something,” Bucky said. “Wouldn’t put it past me. You have to keep an eye on me, or I’ll get up to trouble.” Wasn’t that the fucking truth? Heh, like Tony would know that. Seb could play it off later as post-stage jitters or something. Bucky got them all the time. A really good (or really really bad) show would have him in giggles and erratic behavior for hours afterward.

“You’re just being super extra nice all of a sudden,” Tony said. “What gives?”

“So, I’m like a dick, most of the time? Figures,” Bucky said. That was Nat’s influence there, making someone backtrack. “No, just… maybe I’m seeing things differently, now.” He shifted Tony’s books awkwardly. “Do you… want me to go?”

“No! I just, I know I made things kind of super awkward when we first met with the whole... lookalike thing, and you’re not a _dick_ , you’re just, you know, usually a little less...” He waved a hand helplessly. “Like this.”

Bucky threw his head back, letting his hair wave around. “Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful,” he said, doing his best Keri Hilson.

Tony laughed, and a little of that awkward tension eased. “Yeah, okay. Maybe you can help me, this time. My history prof rejected my paper topic _again_. I don’t know what the hell she wants.”

“Sure, only fair. I swear, all the math just dripped right out of my skull,” Bucky said. “What’s the era?” A snatch of music occurred to him and he started humming it, trying to get the words to scan at the same time, _need to need you, want to want you,_ why the hell didn’t he have his guitar? Seb didn’t have one in his dorm room. He tapped his fingers against his thigh.

“Nice riff,” Tony observed. “Don’t think I know that one. What’s it from?”

“Not sure yet,” Bucky said. “Chasing it down. You know how it is, you just get music stuck in there. Not enough to sing it, yet.” They climbed up the stairs to the library and Bucky paused to look at the statue of the founder, who scowled very scholarly at them. “Yikes. How do you get anything done with Stony McStone-face glaring at everyone?”  

When he turned back, Tony was staring at him, frowning in confusion. “I didn’t... know you wrote music,” he said carefully.

 _Fuck._ Well, Seb had said he was a fan, maybe Tony would be willing to help him out. “Look… look, can I tell you a secret? Are you… can I trust you? Like no joke, serious shit here, man?”

Tony looked even more confused. “I... Yeah, sure. Yes. Because you’re kind of freaking me out right now and I need to know if I should take you to the clinic or what.”

Bucky glanced around the library. God, he’d have to be fucking psychic to figure out where the hell Tony was headed. He tugged on Tony’s sleeve and led him into the stacks, checking to make sure there was no one near by.

“I have never been here before in my life,” he said. “Probably should have thought this through a little bit more, but I saw a chance, and--” Tony’s eyes were huge, worried. “I’m not Seb. Somewhat embarrassing to admit, but I came in second place. I guess I really am not quite myself.” He winked, trying to get that tension out of Tony’s shoulders. “Nice to meet you, Tony. I’m Bucky Barnes.”

Tony’s face cascaded through an entire encyclopedia of emotions: disbelief, hurt, anger, thoughtfulness, and finally comprehension. His eyes got impossibly wider. “You... you are not shitting me,” he hissed. “You’re really-- Oh my god.”

Bucky chewed his lip for a moment, then tugged up his (Seb’s) pants to show off the red star tattooed over his ankle. “I really am,” he said, turning his leg for Tony’s examination. “That’s real. It’s not new. We traded everything else. I’ve got his damn driver’s license in my pocket.”

Tony cocked his head suspiciously, then crouched down to rub his thumb across the tattoo. “It’s real,” he said, and then he looked up at Bucky. “You’re really not shitting me. You... you, what, traded places with Sebastian? _Why?_ ”

“I just… wanted to feel something real for a few days,” Bucky admitted, and he had to swallow hard because it was so damn true, and he was such a fucking whiner. Like, who the hell bitched and moaned about being a star, being famous, being known for his face everywhere he went? No one did that. No one should ever do that. It was… selfish. He threw himself into one of the desk carousels and ran his hands through his hair, still sort of relishing the fact that his hair wasn’t coated in goo and styled to its perfect, casual messy. It was just actually messy.  

Slowly, Tony got up from the floor and slid into the chair opposite Bucky. “So right now, Sebastian is... pretending to be you?”

“That’s the plan,” Bucky said. “Probably hating me, life, and Peggy goddamn Carter at the moment. Choreography is a bitch. I’ll take sitting in class any day and twice on Sunday.”

“No classes on Sunday,” Tony said, with a hint of an impish smile. He folded his arms on the desk and studied Bucky’s face. “So he sent you to me because he figured all his actual friends would figure it out too fast?”

“What? Jesus, _no_ ,” Bucky exclaimed. “He… er. _You_ left notes all over his door. And he told me a bit, he mentioned some other friends, Chace and… I forget the other one. Mack? And you seemed nice, a familiar face, after we were studying. Look, I’m sorry, I didn’t think this would… go down so fast.”

“So... what now?” Tony asked. “I mean. After I look up that reference for my project and then duck into the bathroom and have a quiet fanboy meltdown.”

“Promise, I bleed just as red as you do,” Bucky told him. “If it makes you feel better, I met Billy Joel a few years back and walked right into a refrigerator, I was fanboying so hard. But, he’s just a guy. Like you. Like me. I don’t suppose we can just… keep going? Weirdly awkward conversations with totally gorgeous guys aside, this has been the _best day of my life_. I’m not ready to give it up.”

“Keep going,” Tony repeated, as if the words weren’t entirely real. “Um. Yeah. We can... We can do that. And we’re going to eventually circle back around to all the flirting, because that is _not_ a side of you that comes through in any of your interviews, but... Yeah, sure. We can, uh, I could show you the robotics lab?” He winced. “Lame, I know.”

“You have an _actual_ robotics lab? Like the thing in Boston? Could we?” Bucky had been told a few times that his puppy dog eyes, when he bothered to employ them, should be banned by the Geneva Convention. Usually he didn’t want anything that badly (and Steve just laughed at him, anyway) but Tony made him feel just a little reckless.

Tony looked startled, and then delighted. “Yes? I mean, why would we have a _fake_ robotics lab?” He got up and heaved his backpack onto his shoulders. “It’s not as big as the one in Boston, but that’s okay, our focus is a little different anyway.” He tipped his head, a “come on” sort of gesture. “You can meet DUM-E.”

Bucky almost fumbled Tony’s books, then followed along. “You’re what, like super smart, then? I used to do kits, you know, back in high school, but man, getting them to do anything aside from claim stuck on a cliff when they ran over a pencil, or bump into the doorframe was really hard.”

Tony no-longer-freaking-out was fucking delightful. He dragged Bucky into the lab with an air of ownership, like he was bringing in a special treat for his children or something. Adorable. If it wouldn’t have been too creepy, Bucky could have just sat in a chair and watched him.

“Okay, this should work, I hope,” he muttered as he led Bucky through a door into a dark room. “DUM-E! I’m home -- turn on the lights!” Something moved on the far side of the room, and suddenly the room was flooded with light, revealing a big room filled with half-built constructs and computer terminals and tools. A mechanized arm mounted on a treaded base rolled up to them, its arm tipping sideways, like a curious dog. “Bucky, meet DUM-E, who is only sometimes an utter disaster.”

“This is so cool,” Bucky insisted. “Wish I had my actual phone, I’d love a selfie.” He reached out and poked the clawed end of the ‘bot cautiously. It looked sturdy enough, and Bucky could probably pay for it, but that was cash-value, and he recognized the same look, the one Steve got about his damn electric base, or the way Nat looked at her cat. This was _special_ to Tony.

“You could take a selfie and text it to yourself, I guess?” Tony suggested. He batted the robot’s arm away from his face. “Not me, idiot.” But he patted the struts with absentminded fondness before hooking a rolling stool with his foot and pulling it out. “Want a seat? Sorry, I don’t really have much else here.”

“Okay, okay,” Bucky said. He positioned the stool next to the ‘bot. “Come here, you need to be in the picture, too--” He beckoned and apparently DUM-E took that as some sort of command, since the ‘bot swung his arm, practically knocking Tony into Bucky’s arms. The phone hit the floor, but Bucky managed to get stable before they all went over in a heap. “Woah, there--” He looked up, right into a pair of gorgeous, Bambi eyes, brown and velvety, a perfect, pouting mouth, and realized that Tony was practically straddling his lap. “ _Oh_.”

Tony’s eyes fixed on Bucky’s mouth and he licked his lips. Then he shook his head and scrambled back to his feet. “Shit, sorry, you didn’t mean-- I mean, you have a boyfriend and all.”

Bucky scoffed. _So close, and yet, so far. Need to need you…_ “Only until the tour is over,” he said. He wondered if he could get away with singing a song about a brown-eyed boy; maybe that was just what the Winter Soldier needed to get out of this damn “relationship.”

Tony’s eyes got big and round again. “What? But you guys...” He held up crossed fingers.

“Christ, what you must think of me,” Bucky said, disgusted. With himself, with Steve, with marketing and PR and pappaz. Everything about his life was a big, fat _lie_. “I need a damn time machine, go back and _not_ sleep with Steve Rogers. It’s… it never worked out. We… we’re still friends, but we never… I don’t love him. He thinks I’m his annoying kid brother, except, not quite. It was fun for a while, but the fans liked it too much, so we just… rolled with it. Wish to Christ we hadn’t. I think more people are gonna get hurt than just him an’ me.”

“Huh.” Tony flipped on a workstation and music started playing, only slightly tinny from the cheap speakers. Not a Winter Soldier song, thank the gods. “So you’re going to stage a breakup after the tour?”

“Yeah, Scott and Nat have been talking about doing a duet thing for a while, and I want that for them, let ‘em grow as musicians. Nat’s wasted just doing backup vocals. Take six months off, try to write some new material--” _brown eyes that beg for my secrets, I want to want you_ \--”you know.” There went his fingers again, tapping against the desk. Felt good, damn good, to be chasing an idea down in his head. That’s where the resting bitch face came from, he was pretty sure. Getting lost inside his own brain.

“As long as you’re not planning to break up the band for good,” Tony said, half-pleading. “That music got me through some of the roughest patches of my life.” His hips were swaying to the music that was playing, half-daring Bucky to take hold.

Bucky turned into a puddle. “That’s what-- yeah, I… I mean, obviously, I don’t want anyone to have rough patches, but. I mean, that’s why we do what we do. You get all these feelings, and you want to share them, so maybe it’s not so bad for someone else. You’re not alone, you know? I mean. Thanks, for that.”

Tony laughed. “Feels backwards, but sure, you’re welcome. Feeling pretty good right now, though.” He spun around and did a little shimmy, nothing like the precision choreography Peggy would have demanded, just a guy moving because the music demanded it, unpracticed and unrehearsed club dancing.

Bucky wet his lips with the tip of his tongue, then, a little mischievous, noting where DUM-E was, said, “Come here, you--” DUM-E rolled forward a few inches and rudely pushed Tony backward until he was back in Bucky’s lap. “Good boy.”

“Conspiring with my creations against me?” Tony wondered, but he didn’t stop moving. He straddled Bucky’s lap and god damn _undulated_ like he didn’t even have a spine, draping his arms casually over Bucky’s shoulders and almost but not _quite_ pressing their chests together.

Bucky had gotten professional lap dances from Chippendales models that hadn’t sent him from zero to sixty this fast. He could _smell_ Tony, a touch of sweat and motor oil, books and metal, coffee and cheap, greasy pizza. He smelled _real_. Bucky’s hands went to Tony’s knees, kept him spread over Bucky’s lap, and pushed up, a few inches at a time, feeling the heat of his skin through his jeans, the way his muscles jumped and twitched under Bucky’s fingers.

Keeping his hands about mid-thigh, Bucky moved with him, shoulders dipping in time with the music. It was hard not to sing along, and he suddenly realized he didn’t have to be quiet. Elle King wasn’t quite in his range, but Tony probably didn’t care. The lyrics were sexy as fuck, too, and he just let it go, stopped trying to be the Winter Soldier and settled for just being Bucky Barnes; nerd, music lover, geek, bookworm.

“Hey, hey, hey / Since I'm gonna go to Hell anyway / I'll go out with a bang, bang, bang / Crash and burn it all away.”

Tony laughed, delighted. He curled his hand around the side of Bucky’s throat and wriggled again, pressing their bodies together for a blissful instant. “Oh, are you enjoying this?” he teased. He rolled his hips in a circle in ways that ought to be illegal. “You are, aren’t you?”

Jesus _Christ_. “You’re killin’ me here, smalls.” He couldn’t help it, just rocked up against the heat and welcome ache of Tony’s thigh, pressure where he wanted, _needed…_ the refrain danced around in his head again, and he couldn’t decide which pressure was better, the one in his brain that wanted to write music, or the one in his dick, that wanted to take Tony to the floor and _make_ some music.

“But what a way to go,” Tony said, smirking. He leaned in and brushed his lips over Bucky’s, the barest taste before dancing away again.

God, Bucky was so _bad_ at this; his flirt game had atrophied since he started the thing with Steve (or had Steve started it with him? He really didn’t remember, they’d been that drunk.) and they’d never been great to begin with. Finding a hook-up had been so much _effort_. Being a rock star was supposed to have had him rolling in great quality ass, but mostly he just felt awkward and uninterested.

He licked the flavor of Tony off his mouth, then reached out, touched the man’s cheek with wondering fingertips. “You are _fearless_ ,” he said, admiring. He let his thighs shift as Tony danced, rubbing them together again. “Shameless. Heedless.” He waited until Tony was looking right at him. “Don’t stop.”

“I have plenty of fears,” Tony countered. “But none of them are in here with us right now.” He leaned in again, but skipped by Bucky’s mouth at the last second, nipping along Bucky’s jawline instead. The fingers curled around Bucky’s neck slid back further, pushing into the hair at the nape of Bucky’s neck.

Bucky let his head fall back with a sharp inhale -- his scalp was seriously sensitive. Overly tenderheaded, he’d been called before, which made wig work and styling a pain in the ass. But damn, he loved it when someone pulled his hair. He closed his eyes and concentrated on remembering how to breathe, let his fingers do the walking over Tony’s thighs and up his hips. He licked his lips again, trying to figure out what to say, that wouldn’t sound stupid or needy or whiny.

“Tony?” He opened his eyes to look, to see, really see. Was Tony just chasing him down for the brush against a favorite singer, or was he real… real to Tony in a way he wasn’t in his own life. Not solid. An illusion of _cool_ that hid a very real nerd underneath.

“Hm?” Tony pulled back to look at Bucky, those warm whiskey eyes heavy-lidded and dark with desire. “Somethin’ on your mind?”

“Jus’ wondering if you’re actually gonna kiss me, or wind me up til I bust,” Bucky teased him. He shifted his legs, feeling Tony’s weight on him. He was lithe and lean, a bundle of wiry muscle. Bucky brushed his fingers against Tony’s lower back, feeling how smooth and soft his skin was. The way he shivered under Bucky’s touch.

“Is that an option?” Tony wondered, smirking. “I mean, it could be kind of fun just to make you squirm, see if I can make you shoot off without even getting your clothes off...” He laughed at the look Bucky gave him. “Oh, well, if you put it like that--” He bent his head and kissed Bucky, finally, _finally,_ firm and sweet and hot and wet, his tongue teasing at the rim of Bucky’s lips, dipping in to glide along Bucky’s tongue, deft and delicate.

Without even realizing what he was doing, Bucky ended up rolling the stool backward, spinning it around as he wrapped himself around Tony, hands going up Tony’s shirt to tease along his spine. He moaned into Tony’s mouth, his tongue mapping the terrain of Tony’s cheek, the roof of his mouth, back out to flick over Tony’s lips. He made another soft whimper when Tony pulled back, as if to admire his handiwork.

Tony sighed happily. “Has anyone ever told you you’re a _great_ kisser?” He didn’t wait for Bucky to answer, just dove back in, testing Bucky’s reactions to a tease of tongue or a drag of teeth. Each moan he dragged out of Bucky resulted in another happy wriggle or roll of the hips, and his hands were both in Bucky’s hair now, scraping gently along the scalp, twining Bucky’s hair in his fingers.

The stool came to a sudden, jolting halt, as if they-- well, they _had_ , actually -- bumped into something. A low, broken backed sofa with a pile of lab notebooks on it, blocked their progress any further across the lab, which was probably good, because those machines on the far side did not look soft. “Oof,” Bucky said, then exhaled as Tony tugged his hair in an effort to stay seated rather than spilling to the floor.

He could almost _feel_ his eyes dilate. “Is any of this important?” Bucky indicated the stack of stuff with one casual gesture.

Tony barely glanced at it. “I honestly do not care right now.” He leaned over and knocked half the notebooks to the floor. “Oops.” He did not look at all repentant.

The rest of the pile went over as Bucky shifted, standing up with Tony wrapped around him like a baby koala. He turned and spread Tony over the sofa like a snack and practically devoured him in a single bite. Tony spread his thighs invitingly, and Bucky went, willing, until he was settled in between Tony’s legs, rubbing against Tony’s thigh. He teased at Tony’s mouth, letting Tony chase him, until Tony crossed his ankles behind Bucky’s back and yanked him in.

“Hello, you,” Bucky said. He twisted a curl of Tony’s messy hair around his fingers.

“Hi there,” Tony said. “I’d say you had me at ‘hello’, but I’ve been on board way longer than that.” He lifted his head to nip at the corner of Bucky’s jaw, nuzzling just under Bucky’s ear, his breath tickling in the best kind of way.

Bucky couldn’t help the laugh that worked its way out of his lungs, breathless and reedy. “I haven’t even had you yet,” he said, as if he was being only reasonable. “But I will, if you’ll let me.”

Tony shivered at that, and his mouth fell open a little. “Oh god, yes,” he said, and it came out a little hoarse. “How do you like it?”

Bucky never knew what to say; the back of his neck heated and the tips of his ears were burning. “You--” he said, and then stroked the side of Tony’s face with the back of his hand. “I liked-- that. You on top. Your weight on me. Holds me down, makes me feel real.”

“Yeah?” Tony nudged until Bucky sat up, then stripped off his shirt in one smooth motion. He tugged and twisted and they clambered over and around each other awkwardly until Tony was on top again, straddling Bucky’s waist and working his hands up under Bucky’s shirt. “I can work with this,” he decided, and ducked down to drag his tongue across Bucky’s nipple, a playful little flick at the end that sent a jolt of electricity down Bucky’s spine.

Bucky sucked air, every nerve in his body sparking like a live wire. He ran his hands up Tony’s thighs again, thumbing at the bone in his hip on his way up, exploring that skin. Tony’s stomach, his sides, ribs, those arms, Jesus, the man had biceps for days. Around his back. Bucky dragged his fingers up Tony’s spine, then back down. Light touches, raising gooseflesh in their wake, making Tony shiver and twitch, and each twist rubbed them together.

Tony hummed and sighed and groaned, even as he worked his way down Bucky’s stomach, licking and nipping and teasing. He licked a circle around Bucky’s navel, then unbuttoned the top of Bucky’s jeans. “Can I?” He glanced up, somewhat belatedly, still with that wicked little smirk in place.

Bucky levered himself up onto his elbows to watch. “Yeah,” he said, husky. Not because he was trying to be sexy, but he really couldn’t seem to do anything else but agree. He could die for it, right then and there.

Tony grinned and went back to opening Bucky’s pants. He slipped a hand inside, cupping Bucky’s cock as he worked the zipper down, rubbing gently through the cloth of Bucky’s boxers. “Oh, that’s nice, that’s just _perfect_ ,” he purred, and slid down -- he had to be half hanging off the couch now, but didn’t seem to care. He tugged the pants open and down and then licked up Bucky’s length like a popsicle. “Perfect.”

There was some sort of visceral thrill, watching that dark head between Bucky’s legs. His toes curled inside the cheap sneakers as he rocked up into Tony’s willing mouth. God, that was sweet. A million fireflies danced under Bucky’s eyelids as he let his eyes slip shut again, easing into it, sensation even more intense for having deprived himself of sight. But he couldn’t resist that siren’s call for long, looking down to watch, caught between the two desires.

He made almost no noise, only the soft suck of air and the long exhales, listening to the wet, slipping sounds as Tony worked.

Tony wasn’t loud either, though he made some noise, humming and moaning softly as he worked Bucky farther and farther back down his throat, until Bucky’s cock was pressing hard against the soft back of his throat, slipping carefully in and out. Tony had one hand down inside the boxers, gently cupping Bucky’s balls; the other hand, on Bucky’s hip, squeezed slowly, deliberately. _It’s okay, go ahead._

If Bucky had any room left in his head, he might have been embarrassed about his lack of staying power. But Tony’s mouth was slick and skilled and wanton. Bucky felt like he was racing toward climax, faster, faster, until he gripped Tony’s shoulder with one hand, holding onto the sofa with the other, and shattered.

He exhaled, long, cleansing, and the longer he breathed out, the longer his orgasm seemed to rush through him until his lungs were completely empty and screaming for air.

He pulled air in through his nose, almost without thought moving into the circular breathing technique he’d learned years ago, when he was flute player in high school band. Finally, somehow, he managed to stop, dizzy and delirious with sensation, sinking into the old sofa like a feather bed.

“Holy shit,” Bucky said.

Tony sat back on his heels for a moment, looking smug, then stretched back out, folding his arms across Bucky’s chest and propping his chin on them to look at Bucky. “Worth the price of admission?”

“That was… yeah, that was sweet,” Bucky said, feeling himself blush again, which was stupid, he knew it was stupid, but the more flustered he got, the harder it was to get himself under control. The resting bitchface came down before he said anything even dumber. He touched Tony’s mouth with his thumb, that lower lip puffy and used-looking. He didn’t think he’d ever seen anything quite so beautiful.

Tony flicked out his tongue, licked the pad of Bucky’s thumb, and rolled his hips a little, rocking against Bucky’s thigh for the friction. “God, you are just... the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Yeah?” He pushed up long enough to kiss that smirk off Tony’s mouth. _Looking in your eyes, the reflection of this fire…_ “Gimme. Like ten minutes. I gotta-- shit, I don’t have _my_ wallet. Do you have a condom?” It was bad enough carrying Seb’s wallet around, you just did not go through another man’s wallet. It was some sort of extreme violation of the bro code.

“Think so,” Tony said. He sat back again and dug his own wallet out of his pocket. “Please don’t be expired, please don’t be expired, please don’t be-- Ha!” He tossed the foil packet in Bucky’s direction.

Bucky chuckled, reading the label. “ _Extra_ lubricated. I like a man who plans well. I mean, can you-- do you want that?” He shifted a little; his rear suspension, so to speak, was a little loose, post orgasm, but Steve was a dommy, bossy top, and seldom entertained the notion of switching it up.

“Oh, hell yeah,” Tony said. He knelt up and started stripping out of his own pants. “I want everything you’ve got to give me.”

“Wanna give you everything,” Bucky said, and discovered, almost to his surprise, that he actually meant it. _Want to want you, need to need you._ He watched as Tony undressed, then slipped out of the rest of his clothes, leaving two untidy piles on the floor. He wondered if anyone else ever came down here, or if it was just Tony all the time, with his robot friends. There was a shiver in that, getting caught provided a little thrill.

He tore the corner off the condom pack, squeezed some of the extra lube onto his fingers. It would be slow, he decided, getting Tony ready for him. Slow, and sweet. Listen to the way Tony breathed, watched the way he moved.

“Here, on your knees, so I can see,” Bucky told him. There wasn’t a lot of extra lube, but he made do, tipping a little down Tony’s crack. Bucky couldn’t resist that ass, dear lord, leaning over and nipping along the curve.

Tony squeaked adorably and then threw a hot look at Bucky over his shoulder before he settled into position, head down on folded arms and his knees spread as wide as the couch would allow. He wiggled his butt, and it was probably supposed to be tempting but mostly it was just silly and cute.

Probably he would not appreciate Bucky mentioning that. Instead of saying anything, Bucky rubbed his fingertip over the pucker of Tony’s ass, soft circles punctuated by a few nibbles and licks along Tony’s skin, just to keep things interesting. He teased at that furled opening, getting Tony all wound up, before finally asking, “You good?”

Tony groaned, panting into his arms. “ _Been_ good, c’mon, I need it.” He arched his back, begging wordlessly.

Bucky had to tug himself a few minutes to get hard enough to get the damn condom on; it had been a while since he’d had sex at all, much less twice in one night. But when he pushed the head of his cock against Tony’s hole, he got a hell of a lot harder. “Jesus,” he murmured, watching, incredulously, as his cock disappeared into Tony’s body, one slow half inch at a time.  

Tony moaned and pushed back against him, eager. “Yeah, oh fuck, that’s-- God, you feel good.” He freed one arm and reached back, groping a little, feeling the place where they were joined.

Bucky shivered. Took hold of Tony’s hips and pumped slowly in and out, gaining momentum. He hadn’t felt this connected with another person in -- he didn’t even know how long. It was like making music, like the words to a song just coming together, only he felt it in every inch of his body. His skin was burning, sweat gathered at the back of his neck and his temples. Tony was shaking, great tremors pulsing through him, and Bucky could feel that echo, too.

He had done _this_ , he was _doing_ this, making Tony feel so good, moan so sweet.

Tony keened and gasped as Bucky dragged along his prostate, then pulled his hand in, grabbing for his cock and jerking it ruthlessly. “God, oh, god, just... just like that.” He was shaking, breath coming in gasps and his hair turning damp with sweat. “Need... Need you, _please_.”

Bucky increased his tempo, running songs in his head, wanting this to last, but he was moving from _American Woman_ all the way to _She Talks to Angels._ He reached around Tony’s hip, at first covering Tony’s hand and the batting it aside to stroke Tony in time, wanting to be the one that brought Tony over the cliff, wanting to touch that velvet skin, feel the heat of it. “There, there you are, baby, shhh, I got this,” Bucky murmured, soft against Tony’s back.

Tony whined and shivered, bracing himself against the arm of the sofa. He was gulping in air and gasping out nonsense, curses and blasphemies and Bucky’s name all garbled together. But when he came, he went utterly silent, his whole body going rigid, squeezing around Bucky’s cock as he spent himself. He was frozen for a long few seconds afterward, and then he went limp and boneless. “Oh, _fuck_.”

“That,” Bucky said, grunting as he pushed into that clenching heat, “was the idea.” He couldn’t resist the way Tony clutched around him, the squeeze and pulse, and he followed soon after, aching in his balls as he came. Waves of pleasure cascaded over him, like cool rain, like… wonder and awe all at once. “Aaaah! Tony!”

It was almost too much, pleasure that moved to the brink of agony. He practically flattened Tony onto the sofa, getting his arm down just in time.

Tony grunted as Bucky collapsed, but made no attempt to squirm free. “Well, that exceeded all expectations,” he mumbled.

“I promise,” Bucky told him, “that I had no expectations of this, at all. It was a… it was a gift. Thank you.”

“Mm. Likewise. Mutually beneficial exchange.” Tony lifted his head and twisted just enough to plant a kiss on Bucky’s cheek.

“Soon as I can figure out where my legs are, I’ll move,” Bucky said, absently stroking Tony’s side and flank. “‘Course, that might be next week, sometime.”

“No rush.” Tony wriggled, just a little, apparently settling in. “I’m comfy.”

Bucky rolled his hips a little, where they were still joined together and relished the overstimulated ache. “Yeah, you are.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Switching back, Bucky has a new song, Seb is almost late for class, and there’s a whole lot of questions at the after-concert party… 
> 
> For O1 - In Vino Veritas, MCU Kink Bingo

 

Seb’s phone -- well, technically, it was Bucky’s phone -- went off at ridiculous o’clock Friday morning. Which was only ridiculous because Steve had been covering for him with the band, and they’d stayed out late Thursday night and partied like… well, like fucking rock stars, and it had been one of the best nights of Seb’s life, ending with an impressively long bout of making out and mutually masturbating.

Speaking of which, Steve was still laying over Seb’s legs. And the phone was still buzzing. Texts.

_Meet early for the thing._

_We need to switch back before the show. And I fail all your tests._

_Also, I’d kinda like to have my credit card back._

_And you need new shoes, you are a menace to arches everywhere._

Seb groaned and let his hand fall back to the bed. Tests. Yes. That... that was a thing he was supposed to be doing. And probably he should not go up on stage as Bucky; his impression was pretty good for a couple of rounds of karaoke, but he wasn’t going to be able to maintain it for the duration of a whole show. And he definitely didn’t think he could fake that synergy with the rest of the band that made a Winter Soldier performance so electrifying.

Fuck. He rubbed at his face and then prodded at Steve’s shoulder. He managed to unstick his teeth enough to mumble, “G’off.”

“ _Again_?” Steve said. For a guy with short hair, Steve had some impressive bedhead. He nuzzled sleepily at Seb’s chest. “Thought we did that already?”

Seb pushed at Steve a little harder. Jesus, the guy was built like a _tank_. And nearly as heavy. “ _Off_ ,” he clarified. “Clock’s striking midnight, time for Cinderella to go back to being a drudge.”

Steve huffed and rolled over, taking most of the blankets with him. “Yeah, I guess I knew this was coming.” He straightened to look at Seb with a wistful gaze. “You’re not gonna go into hiding and make me find you with a shoe, are you?”

“Well, I might,” Seb mused. “Bucky says I need new shoes anyway.” He waved his phone at Steve by way of explanation. “But nah, I mean. School’s right here in town, it’s not hard to find me. If, you know. You wanted to.” He’d halfway expected Steve to declare them done, a temporary road fling, had-a-great-time-let-me-call-you-a-cab sort of thing. Maybe a little more than half.

Steve didn’t really _seem_ like that kind of guy, but he also didn’t seem like the kind of guy who could do that thing with his tongue, and Seb had been proven gloriously wrong on that count. And rock stars, well. Seb had heard stories, even met a few groupies.

“And if I wanted to?” Steve wondered. He was scratching at the back of his neck, making his hair stand out even more wildly. He eyed Seb for a long moment, taking in the suck-marks along Seb’s collarbone. “I mean, I know it’s weird, believe me, it’s-- you _look_ like him, but you’re not him. I hope you don’t think I’m confused about that.”

Seb shook his head. He’d seen the way Steve and Bucky looked at each other on the stage, and during interviews and photoshoots and in fan photos. That wasn’t how Steve looked at Seb. “I’ll put my number in your phone,” he promised. “And, hey, I’ll see you tonight, right? Free tickets and a backstage pass.”

“That’s gonna be a little freaky,” Steve said. “Both of you in the same room? Bet we could convince Scott that we’d made cloning a real thing.” Steve got up, stretching and showing off that glorious body. The way he looked back to make sure Seb was watching -- yeah okay. “Join me in the shower? Or do you need to run?”

Seb glanced at the phone and did some quick calculations in his head. “I have some time.” He tossed it over his shoulder onto the pillows and threw the blankets aside to roll to his feet.

***

Bucky tapped his pencil against his thigh, impatient. Where the hell was Seb? He checked his watch again-- if Seb didn’t show up in the next fifteen minutes, Bucky was going to end up having to take the test for him, and that wasn’t going to end well for anyone.

He’d already said goodbye to Tony that morning. Tony rolled out of bed with a squeak of dismay, having a morning exam.

Finally, Bucky spotted his own signature look; hell, Seb looked better than he did. Probably had Loki fussing over him for days. Bucky ducked into the nearest unoccupied classroom -- there were lots, since exams were scheduled. “Sebastian! Here!”

Seb spotted him and increased his pace. “Hey,” he said, swinging into the room and closing the door behind him. “Sorry I cut it so close. It was kind of hard to tear myself away.” He stripped off Bucky’s leather jacket and draped it over the back of a chair, then pulled the layered shirts over his head all at once. “Here, give me my tee.”

He had a row of bruises along his collarbone. A couple of them showed distinct teethmarks.

“Taking advantage of the rockstar lifestyle?” Bucky asked. He was almost reluctant to part with the tee -- it still smelled like Tony’s cologne. “You have a good time?”

Sebastian _blushed_ , red splotches that started in his cheeks and spread halfway down his chest. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, I did. You?”

“Yeah, it was--- it was good. Too good, maybe.” He sucked in his gut as he tucked in the shirts. Peggy was going to kill him if he’d put on more than five pounds. But oh, god, it had been nice to eat pizza and ice cream, and sharing popcorn with Tony while they watched stupid movies.

Seb pulled on his own shirt with much less care and grinned as he propped one foot up on a chair to unfasten the boots. “Taking advantage of the hedonistic student lifestyle?” he teased.

The back of his neck heated-- anyone seeing them wouldn’t be able to tell them apart, he imagined. “Yeah. Something like that.” He had beard burn on his thighs, but Seb didn’t need to see that. He’d be short one pair of jeans, and Seb’s wardrobe could use some jazzing up, anyway. Oh, thank god, he’d missed his boots. “Remind me to send you a gift card or something-- you keep doing your Winter Soldier gig in these shitty shoes, you’re going to permanently damage your knees. Jesus, I sound like my mother.”

Seb laughed as he tugged on his sneakers. “You want to finance new shoes for me, be my guest. Shitty cheap shoes are about all I can afford.”

“Consider it a bonus,” Bucky said, lacing up. “I’ll see you tonight for the thing, but-- good luck on your tests, your history prof is kinda a hard-ass.”

“It’s in the bag,” Seb promised. “Shit, I still have to figure out who to bring with me tonight.” He pulled a face. “Everyone’s probably already got plans.”

Bucky made a face. He’s already fucked with Seb’s life enough, the man probably had a prospective, or-- “Bring Tony,” he suggested.

Seb grabbed his bookbag and heaved it up over one shoulder, then raised an eyebrow at Bucky. “Tony, really?” He made a face. “I guess. He’d be over the moon about it, probably.” Seb grinned. “Maybe he’ll do the writeup for our last lab in exchange.”

“The thing with the samples, and crystallization? Yeah, we did it last night,” Bucky said. That wasn’t all they’d done last night, but the actual chem work was probably all that Seb cared about. “Once we got the sample box back from Dum-E.”

“You did it at _his_ place?” Seb’s eyes widened. “Brave of you. I usually make him meet me at the library or something.”

 _Definitely_ not the time or place to tell Seb what they’d done in the library stacks. “I like him, he’s funny,” Bucky said with a shrug. “Go, go, you’re gonna be late.” He took Seb’s wallet and phone and put them on the desk to tuck his own possessions back in his pockets.

Seb glanced up at the clock on the wall and yelped. “Right, going now!” He scooped up his stuff and bolted for the door without even pausing to put it away. “See you tonight!”

Bucky stared down at his phone. Steve waved at him from the lock-screen. It had been that picture for years and he hadn’t changed it. The tour would be over soon. Twelve more weeks, forty-one more shows. Ug. He pulled up his call list. “Hey, Luis, can you come get me, I’m over--” He glanced at the building. “By the university, near the quad. Thanks man.”

Bucky shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and headed out the door.

Need to need something-- the last bit of the song fell into place as he slumped across the lawn. There might be time. His thumbs moved over the phone rapidly. “Guys, new song, get your gear together and let’s jam it out, think we might be able to debut it tonight.”

Bucky tucked his phone away, ignoring the multiple buzzes as his band texted back, excited or confused, or just enthusiastic. He looked up into the sky and laughed. Yeah, this had been _exactly_ what he needed.

***

The concert had been _amazing_ , and only somewhat touched with the melancholy of knowing the band would be gone again tomorrow. Seb had put his number in Steve’s phone, as promised, but hadn’t gotten so much as a “see ya” text. Well, he’d probably been busy getting ready for the show.

Tony, as predicted, had been enthusiastically grateful for the invite, though he’d been a little strange on the subway to the concert hall -- not his usual puppy-like eager-to-please self. Not that he’d been standoffish, just... it seemed like Tony had finally let go of that crush. Which was nice; it felt like Seb could actually _breathe_ properly around the guy now. He wondered what Bucky had said or done to fix that.

And during the concert, when they’d debuted their brand-new song -- first time _anywhere_ , Bucky had told the screaming audience -- Tony had seemed less excited and more... overwhelmed, maybe? Overcome by the song’s sweet longing, maybe a bit more than it really called for. But hey, Seb had never gone to a concert with Tony before; maybe that was just how he was.

By the time the encores had been played and the band had left the stage for the last time, Seb was buzzing with energy and -- he had to admit -- eager to see Steve again. He caught Tony’s eye and nodded toward the stage door, and they started to make their way toward it, backstage passes firmly in hand.

Seb recognized the bodyguard, Luis, who blinked at him, but took the passes. “Come on, right though here, homie, like we gotta check you for weapons an’ stuff, it’s just procedure, you know what it be like, right? My cousin, he--” Luis went through his speech, patting them both down. “All right, come on this way. Tash an’ Scott are in the green room. Soldier’s signing some autographs out back, he should be in soon. There’s beer and food-- do not touch Tash’s cupcakes. She will break your neck.” The way Luis laughed, Seb couldn’t tell if he was kidding or not.

“Where’s Steve?” he couldn’t help asking. He craned his neck, looking around hopefully.

“Gym,” Luis said. “He does that thing, you know, man, when he’s-- thinking?” The bodyguard made a few half-hearted punching motions.

Luis opened the green room door, where Scott was entertaining a laughing Nat by inhaling helium out of the balloons and talking in a squeaky voice.

“Oh, wow--” Nat said, turning in the chair and staring at Seb. “He wasn’t even kidding, was he?”

“Uh.” Seb shoved his hand through his hair. “He told you guys, huh?” He held out a hand. “Sebastian. It’s... it’s just amazing to meet you.” Steve had mostly kept him out of the way of the rest of the band over the last week, lest they figure out the switch, so he was, at least mostly, meeting them for the first time. Sort of.

“Yeah, he said you won a contest,” Nat said. She absently licked icing off the top of her cupcake. “ _Winter Soldier_ impersonator. Can’t imagine why anyone would want to be _Barnes_. Especially not tonight.” She pulled a bottle of vodka out from where she had it tucked between her and the chair. “Drink, boys?”

Scott shook Seb’s hand, several times. “Yeah, you do, you look just like him, this is so cool, so cool, and… I’m shaking your hand too long, sorry, it’s just kinda a mind-fuck, you know, I mean, look at you.” He turned to Tony, still shaking Seb’s hand. “Are you seeing this guy? How does it not-- pooof, just blow your mind?”

Tony laughed good-naturedly. “It kinda did,” he admitted, “but I’ve had a couple of months to get used to it, I guess.” He reached for the offered vodka and took a swig. “What did you mean, not wanting to be Bucky tonight?” he asked Natasha.

“He and Steve are fighting,” Nat said, carelessly. “It will be ugly and long, and we are all, you would say, shoved in a tour bus like sardines for the next two months. I need new headphones.”

Scott finally let go of Seb’s hand. “Happens, when you’re living on top of each other all the time,” Scott said. “So, what’d you think of the new song? Buck was all crazy this afternoon; like he dodged us all week and suddenly he’s back with this amazing song, like, I’m sure I flubbed it-- I am not the best drummer in the world--”

“-- You’re not even the best drummer in the band--” Nat piped up, then laughed as Scott threw a handful of popcorn at her.

“It was good,” Seb said. “I really liked it. Could maybe use a more upbeat bridge, though. I dunno, you guys are the experts. But I’m definitely looking forward to the new album.” He glanced over at Tony, expecting agreement, or maybe an argument about the bridge thing.

Tony was flushing again, and taking another swig of the vodka. “I loved it,” he said softly. “I thought it was perfect.”

Scott started to wax poetic about the song, some of the complicated riff-patterns, because Bucky was obviously some sort of fucking masochist, when the door slammed open, letting in a sweaty Steve Rogers, dressed in form fitting compression shorts, a tank, and his hands taped up for boxing, followed closely by Bucky, who grabbed a handful of Steve’s shirt. “No, you wait-- oh. You’re here.”

Seb’s mouth had gone dry at the sight of Steve dressed like that. “Uh, yes.”

“Seemed pointless to sit around and watch everyone else file out of the hall,” Tony added, cheeky, then bit his lip, looking between Bucky and Steve. “Should we go?”

“Yes-” “-no.” It was hard to tell who had said what, and both Steve and Bucky glared at each other.

“I don’t want to argue in front of--” Steve glanced at Seb, then took in Tony standing there looking stunned. “People who aren’t involved.”

Bucky took a deep breath. “But, uh… he is. Involved, that is.”

“That’s because it was your dumb idea--” Steve burst out, then shut his mouth with a snap.

“What, Steve? What _exactly_ was my dumb idea?” Bucky was right up in Steve’s face. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

Scott glanced at Seb. “Do you know what’s going on, because I don’t know what’s going on.”

Nat snorted. “You never know what’s going on.”

“You don’t have to rub it in--”

“You _like_ it when I rub it in,” Nat teased.

Seb lost track of their bickering, because he had a sinking feeling he _did_ know what was going on. “Shit.” Steve had told him that the relationship with Bucky was in name only, just to keep the fans happy for the rest of the tour, but... what if Bucky didn’t quite feel the same way? What if Bucky was mad at Steve because of _Seb_? “Oh, hell, is this... is this my fault?”

“Why the _hell_ would it be your fault?” Nat asked, and at that, everyone turned around to look at her. “What? He said it, not me.”

Steve made an exasperated face, throwing his hands up. “We-- you-- what the hell did you go and write a _love song_ for? Did you think I wouldn’t know? I--”

“It was for me,” Tony said breathlessly. His eyes were locked on Bucky. “Wasn’t it? I thought I recognized that riff. It was the one you were humming--” He broke off, glancing around as if only just realizing that other people were in the room.

Scott raised his hand. “Can I ask a question?”

Nat rolled her eyes. “You don’t need to raise your hand, Scott. This isn’t second grade.”

“Wait, what?” Steve whirled on Tony. “Who the hell are you?”

Bucky moved, suddenly between Steve and Tony. “Leave him alone, this-- this is between us.”

“What the hell is happening right now?” Seb asked.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to ask!” Scott complained.

Tony glanced back at Seb and gave him a sheepish shrug. “Cat’s out of the bag,” he said. “Might as well tell the whole truth.”

“You _knew?_ ” Seb demanded.

Tony rolled his eyes. “Please. Did you think I wouldn’t be able to tell it wasn’t you when you started being so _nice?_ ”

That stung. “I’m... I’m nice,” Seb said.

Steve made a thoughtful, humming noise. “I’ll say…”

Nat’s hand went up. “Now I have a question.”

“Please,” Tony scoffed. “You barely tolerated me. I get it, I do, but you weren’t _nice_. Not until this week.”

“Besides, I told him,” Bucky said. “He was freaking out about it. You forgot to mention that your _lab partner_ was the hottest thing this side of Venus. So, he, uh, he helped cover for me.”

“So, you’re not--” Steve held up one finger “-- _not_ actually falling in love with me?”

“No!” Bucky looked almost offended by that. “I mean--”

“Yes,” Seb said, and when everyone looked at him again, he just smiled and shrugged. “Might as well admit it, right? Since the cat’s out of the bag?” How much vodka had he had?

“I wrote the song for Tony,” Bucky admitted. “I haven’t… I mean. Steve, you and I--”

“It was never going to work,” Steve finished. “Not enough room in the bed for both of our egos, right?”

Bucky snorted. “I’m amazed _you_ can fit in the room with your ego.” He flashed a glance at Seb. “The bruises? I thought I recognized Steve’s teeth marks.”

Seb felt his face getting hot. “You didn’t ask,” he said defensively.

Scott threw himself on the sofa plaintively, “Why is everyone getting laid around here that’s not me?”

Nat sat up a little in the chair. “You have not asked.”

Bucky held out his hand, like he was offering to waltz with Tony. “I don’t know if I can last out the tour,” he admitted. “It’s not hard to pretend when nothing’s real. But I don’t know if I can do it when something… might be.”

Tony took Bucky’s hand and stepped closer, almost crowding into Bucky’s side.

Seb tried to make that make sense in his head. _Bucky fucking Barnes_ and _Tony Stark?_ What even the hell had happened? He swallowed and looked back at Steve. “He might have a point.”

“I wasn’t-- I wasn’t going to worry about it if it was just me,” Steve said, then corrected himself. “Just us. If someone saw me with you-- no one would know. But--”

“Christ, really?” Bucky demanded. “Did you know--”

“What--”

“Did you know, did you know he wasn’t me, when you-- whatever it is you did?”

“I’m not mooning over you, Buck,” Steve said. “I knew it wasn’t you the instant I kissed him. You don’t… you don’t kiss like that. This man could place in an Olympic event for kissing.”

“You know, this is great, this is wonderful, you’re all very cute, and you’re talking it out, getting your feelings out on the table, that’s… that’s really, really great. I approve. And… while I’m stepping all over your moment here, I’m just going to ask you to excuse us, but it seems like you’ve both found someone new, that’s amazing, Darcy’s going to kill all of us, but--” Scott said, putting one arm around Steve’s shoulders and one around Bucky’s. “Now that we’re all done with the bullshit, fake relationship shit, I think I’m going to ask our keyboardist if she’d like to boink like bunnies with me, and we’ll get out of your hair.”

“‘Boink like bunnies’?” Nat’s eyebrows disappeared into her hair. “ _Really_?”

“I mean, obviously when I actually ask you, I’m going to be all suave and romantic,” Scott told her.

She considered him cooly for a moment, then rolled to her feet. “All right.”

“Well,” Bucky said, watching them leave. “That… was unexpected. So… uh. I’m gathering from all this, that-- he… and you-- and me an’ Tony... did this work out for everyone? I think, it did?”

Seb smiled and tucked himself up under Steve’s arm. “Yeah, I think it did.”

***

Rolling Stone Magazine

_No, You’re Not Seeing Double_

Winter Soldier front man, Bucky Barnes, and long term partner, Steve Rogers, have broken up-- not the band, but their relationship. But don’t be sad, we have the latest scoop on their new sweethearts, and a story that’s sure to give you faith that… anything could happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that's the end of this particular story. Hope you enjoyed it!

**Author's Note:**

> the plan is for there to be five stories in this AU, so keep an eye out...


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